


just for a moment

by Felinix



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Denial, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, a lot of monologuing for one handholding session, a lot of rhapsodizing by wylan, basically waxing poetic, escorting someone home, hand-holding, hardcore denial, inebriation, jesper wrangling duty, just basically a lot of pining, well no it's really not but HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT, wylan slides straight into denial do not pass go do not receive 200
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felinix/pseuds/Felinix
Summary: (Even if he can’t read, Wylan knows he’s probably the living definition of the protagonist of some sappy romance novel.)(Like the kind Jesper reads and pretends he doesn’t.)(It’s cute.)No, it’s not.Wylan shakes his head and glares up at Jesper.I’m turning into a sap and this is all your fault.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	just for a moment

**Author's Note:**

> For you. You know who you are. Enjoy. ;3

“Are you drunk?”

From his slumped position against Wylan’s shoulder, Jesper mutters. “No.”

“Oh my god, you’re drunk.” Wylan shakes Jesper slightly. Jesper doesn’t shift, both to Wylan’s guilty relief and annoyance.

Being stuck on what was affectionately dubbed _“Jesper Wrangling Duty”_ was not how Wylan wanted to spend his evening. Despite the rumors about Jesper’s legendary gambling streak, Wylan didn’t expect him to need a chaperone.

Wylan was wrong.

Perhaps that realization came too late, considering their current state- Jesper intoxicated and Wylan the only clear-headed one.

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Wylan pushes Jesper again. “We’re leaving.”

“Nooooo…” The protest was undeniably slurred at the edges. Jesper looks up beseechingly at Wylan, and there was a telltale flush high on his cheekbones. _Definitely drunk._ “Why?”

“Because you’re inebriated and I don’t want to be here for longer than I have to.”

“Big words, little merchling.” Jesper’s words blend into one another.

“My point still stands.”

This may be one of the higher-class gambling dens, but it was still a _gambling den_. Unidentifiable stains upon the chair cushions, too-bright chandeliers to distract from the absence of windows, wooden tables crowded with raucous players, and too many dark corners for his comfort. The statuesque silhouettes of the dealers made Wylan uneasy, despite having spent several hours in the presence of one by Jesper’s side.

Seated upon a bench against the wall, Wylan was fine with watching the players shout their victories or losses amid rushed figures of servers scurrying to and fro from the kitchens. Jesper was surely done for the night, curled up against Wylan’s side in a way that made him look smaller than usual. More vulnerable.

Jesper yawns and cuddles closer to Wylan’s hip, and Wylan wills himself not to blush. (Not that it would matter anyway, Jesper was probably too intoxicated to notice. But still.)

“Wake up, we’re going.”

“Hngh.” Jesper finally stands, and Wylan’s side feels cold without his warmth.

Wylan ignores the bereft feeling.

Jesper stares down at him, half-mast grey eyes highlighted against the reddened tan of his skin. The flinty-grey catches the golden light of the chandeliers, flecking the grey with gold.

_ Pretty. _

Wylan coughs and stands, directing his focus to the exit instead of the color of Jesper’s eyes _(gold dust caught in stone, like nothing he’d ever seen)_. “Come on.”

Complying easily enough, Jesper loops his arm through Wylan’s. Ignoring his heart suddenly beating double-time, Wylan guides them to the door.

The sudden brisk of Ketterdam night hits Wylan’s skin sharply. He wrinkles his nose, tucking his chin deeper into his old overlarge coat. Wylan looks up to find Jesper looking back. His eyes seem silver without the gold, shifting in the dim light of the lanterns. Wylan prefers this Jesper, he thinks. The one bathed in moonlight instead of the neon brightness of the gambling den.

(Even if he can’t read, Wylan knows he’s probably the living definition of the protagonist of some sappy romance novel.)

(Like the kind Jesper reads and pretends he doesn’t.)

(It’s cute.)

_ No, it’s not. _ Wylan shakes his head and glares up at the taller male _. I’m turning into a sap and this is all your fault._

Jesper smiles crookedly back, the white of his teeth stark against the dark of the night. “Are we going?” He croons, the words dragging long over his tongue.

Wylan doesn’t answer, preferring to tug Jesper along by the other’s knitted scarf (surprisingly soft, and worn. Wylan knows it’s deep red, and hates that he knows that. He could fill an encyclopedia with useless facts about Jesper Fahey.)

The Dregs’ base was all the way across the Barrel. It’ll be a long walk, and Wylan wonders if Jesper chose this place for a reason. Wylan glances up, debating to ask, but stops when he sees that Jesper’s stumbling woozily along. He won’t get a straight answer anyway.

“Where are we going?” Jesper mumbles. It’s sleepy, unlike the sharp laughter back at the gambling dens. Wylan looks at him to find the other pouting. It’s a weirdly warm expression. A direct contrast to an hour ago, where Jesper’s grin struck sparks against the excited gleam of his grey-gold eyes whenever he won and Wylan would pretend the swoop in his stomach was because of Jesper’s victory and not his expression.

Wylan had only seen Jesper truly excited during one of two moments. The first was gambling, when his cards lined up and his luck soaring before the inevitable crash. The second… the second was when his hands were clasped against the handles of his guns, when Jesper’s constant restlessness was funneled into the breakneck adrenaline of a battle.

(Wylan couldn’t give him that. Fights exhausted Wylan, he never understood the supernova energy that lit Jesper like a lightbulb that ran on danger. Wylan just felt like a burned-up fuse.)

But now, with Jesper latched onto his arm and breath misting against the chilly air… Now, maybe Wylan could pretend that they were… normal. Two boys on their way home from school or whatever people that weren’t affiliated with gangs did. ( _From a date,_ his traitorous mind suggested.)

Wylan froze when a foreign warmth touched his fingers.

“Wylannnnnn…”

Jesper’s fingers were clutching his own. Jesper’s hand was touching his. Jesper’s hand was holding his.

_ They were holding hands. _

(It was warm. Jesper’s hands were ice-blocks, frozen by the Ketterdam air. Wylan’s weren’t in much better shape, but he could feel his fingers thawing as time crawled on. It felt nice. _How much of that was because of the warmth and how much of that was because of_ Jesper’s _warmth?_ )

“ _What_ ,” Wylan asked, the word cut off sharply. _What are you doing?!_

Did Jesper know what he was doing? Was this what drunk Jesper did with everyone? Wylan had a split-second image of a tipsy Jesper lacing his slender fingers through Matthias’, and had to laugh.

Jesper frowns. Pouts, really. “Answer my question!”

“You first, what is _this?”_ Wylan shoves their interlaced fingers in Jesper’s face.

“My hands are cold, and you’re hot.” Jesper answers easily. Wylan’s face flames. _That is NOT what he meant, and you know it!_ Oblivious to Wylan’s inner crisis, Jesper continues. “Where are we going?”

“T-The Slat.” Wylan hopes Jesper doesn’t notice his stutter. Thankfully, the other seems too busy yawning. Jesper mumbles a faint _okay_.

Their hands swing between them.

“Do you do this to _everyone,_ ” Wylan mutters.

“Only the cute ones.”

Jesper winks. Wylan ducks his head deeper into his jacket to hide his rising blush. _It’s the alcohol, it’s the alcohol, it’s the alcohol_ , he repeats. Jesper wouldn’t do this if he was sober. _Right?_

“Why are you escorting me anyway,” Jesper’s voice trails off into a whine. “I don’t need an escort. I’m- I’m fine!”

“You’ll probably walk right back into a gambling den if I left you alone.” Wylan says flatly.

Jesper huffs, annoyed.

“I see you’re not denying it.”

“I can feel you making fun of me!!”

Wylan laughs, a satisfied feeling bubbling in his chest. Even if he couldn’t be with Jesper the way he wanted, this… this was good.

Jesper’s hand squeezes his. _Warm._

“We’re here.” Wylan stops in front of the Slat, the building familiar to him now. Stepping inside, Wylan groans. The hot air felt heavenly compared to the outside weather. The back of his neck prickles, and Wylan looks back to see Jesper staring again from the doorway. “What are you waiting for? Come inside.” Wylan tugs their conjoined hands a little.

Jesper steps inside.

“Where’s your room?”

“Upstairs.”

They keep holding hands as they go up the rickety steps. Wylan feels like he’s going to combust. (Supernova, like a lightbulb lit on warmth. God, he was pathetic.)

Jesper stops outside a door at the middle of the hall. Turning toward Wylan with those bright-silver-grey eyes, he speaks. “Thanks.”

“No problem?” Wylan yanks at their still-interlocked fingers. “Can I have my hand back now?”

“One sec.” 

Jesper tugs Wylan toward him gently and presses his lips to Wylan’s nose.

Then he lets Wylan’s hand go. The door clicks shut behind him.

_ What. _


End file.
